Forgive me?” She pleaded. But that title he would not endure. “For seven years,” said Ann Veronica, “I have been trying to keep myself from thinking about love. Trodger might not need his hair dressed, but the flagon of ale that each soldier quaffed would be welcome—once his captain had departed, thought Roding cynically. I’ll feel fine as soon as I get out of my wet clothes. ‘Wait for me.
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